Your Character's Name: Oren
I don’t know what it was about this day. The fact that we all got a decent night’s sleep or that we all shared an unspoken yearning to get out of that house. Even me. If we hadn’t pushed, politely of course, for the old woman to show us to our beds, we may still be up listening to her about another maid she forgot to mention or the fireworks show on her eleventh and twelfth birthday. She was a sweet lady but the apocalypse clearly dissipated her pretentious side, to an extent at least.
Or maybe it was just the weather. Even nicer than the day before. Warm with a cool breeze and not a cloud in sight. A rare sky. We continued north along the shore for a bit until we hit the road that hit Hart’s Mill. I anticipated nothing but progress along that road today but of course it was wishful thinking. It wasn’t long before we came to another building that wasn’t easily set apart from the others that offered us close to nothing. I wanted to keep walking but naturally Hal, Nolan and Hobson started walking squarely towards it without much discussion, giving me little choice on the matter.
Just as we walked in we heard a stumble and clatter of scrap metal fall to the ground followed by a string of curse words. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I saw a man lying face down on the cold cement floor. The guys were looking at the same thing. His head lifted slowly and for a few moments had a look in his eyes as though we were intent on killing him. None of us said a word or moved a muscle and he got to his knees, head down, and started laughing. This black man with a clear peaceful front stood up and walked over to us, making a joke about his lack of stealth and introduced himself as Lester. We all shook hands with an enigmatic trust and gave our names.
“I was watching you,” Lester said, quickly noticing our suspicious brows, “For a reason.” Of course. He sighed, “I need help.” We all stood silently waiting for him to go on. “My brother…my brother was kidnapped earlier this week.” Right then my heart dropped. He went on to tell us that the MPD was holding his brother prisoner, which I questioned right away. I might have been too quick to ask because Lester shot me a glance as if I was accusing him of lying. Which I may have been doing. I just couldn’t grasp that the good people in the MPD would take a prisoner without good reason. “They’re not good people,” Lester corrected me to which the other guys nodded in agreement. “My brother, he was building a community. The MPD acted like it was an army. But there was nothing violent in his ways and nothing to conspire over. The MPDs,” he reassured, “are not good people.”
“How do we benefit?” Nolan asked.
Lester shrugged. “Finders keepers. We’re going to the holding cells. And whatever they have in there is up for grabs. You claim it, you have it. We’re trying to rescue these people. Christ, women and children are down there, being held as prisoners for reasons they’re not even sure of.”
When Lester said ‘we’, we knew we had something. He explained that he had already recruited three others, friends of his. Hal, Nolan and Hobson agreed to help. Another day or two lost. Or maybe this was the end of the road, who knows if we’d make it out alive. But I couldn’t go to Hart’s Mill alone. I nodded, turning to Lester, “Okay. I’m in. I know what you’re going through. Where we’re eventually heading to, I’m hoping to find my sister. She was taken over a year ago. Kidnapped.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But-and I don’t want to give you false hope-but maybe you’re sister is down there. A lot of people are down there.”
I shook my head and told him it couldn’t have been the MPDs that took my sister. The people that took my sister killed my parents, tried to kill me. Horsemen, I wagered.
“Cloaked?”
“What?” I asked Lester.
“Did the men who killed your parents wear cloaks?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Doesn’t sound like horsemen.”
“Well I would have known if they were MPDs, right?”
“Do you remember what they wore?”
I thought for a few seconds and shook my head again.
“Well, try.” Lester said, and went back to talking to us on setting things in motion. I didn’t hear it, though. It was white noise under the crack of something hitting my temple followed by screams from my mom and sister.
I fell to the ground as I got another crack to the head and things went black. Couldn’t have been for long because when I opened my eyes my parents were still alive and fighting. I tried to get up but I was weak. My muscles felt like sand and I couldn’t get more than half a breath in at a time. My stomach was being pulled towards my spine with each attempt at a gasp of air. My hand fell upon it and I brought it to my face. My vision was blurred but I could tell my hand was dripping with blood. Somewhere between in the time between our front door being kicked in to right now, I had been shot in the gut. Or right beside it. I was still alive but wasn’t supposed to be. Another gunshot. I subtly looked up hoping they wouldn’t notice and saw my father fall to the ground, my mother screaming and running over to him. Then, with a blade swiftly crossing her throat, she fell over my father, twitching, until she finally went lax. Five had come into the house, and two were left. I noticed one dead in the opposite corner as my father. The two left took another look at me so I stopped breathing. They silently confirmed I was dead, grabbed their dead partner and walked out the front door. With all the strength I could muster, I shifted my body towards the wall and looked outside through a hole I was supposed to have filled in weeks ago. I watched them open the trunk of a car and toss their friend in. The other two were still alive sitting in the front of the car. And so was my sister. My vision was clearing and I could see her shaking in the center backseat, blood trickling down the side of her face, gagged and eyes sealed with duct tape. The other two got in, one on each side of her, and pushed her head down between her legs and they drove off. I don’t remember much about what they looked like. Their clothes didn’t stand out and I couldn’t see their faces because they were wearing those helmets. Kind of like the ones MPDs use. Exactly like the ones that MPDs use.
I came back to now, Lester still talking about how we were getting in and the game plan from there. He mentioned the estimated MPD casualty count and it sent a shiver of excitement up my spine.
I don’t know what it was about this day. The fact that we all got a decent night’s sleep or that we all shared an unspoken yearning to get out of that house. Even me. If we hadn’t pushed, politely of course, for the old woman to show us to our beds, we may still be up listening to her about another maid she forgot to mention or the fireworks show on her eleventh and twelfth birthday. She was a sweet lady but the apocalypse clearly dissipated her pretentious side, to an extent at least.
Or maybe it was just the weather. Even nicer than the day before. Warm with a cool breeze and not a cloud in sight. A rare sky. We continued north along the shore for a bit until we hit the road that hit Hart’s Mill. I anticipated nothing but progress along that road today but of course it was wishful thinking. It wasn’t long before we came to another building that wasn’t easily set apart from the others that offered us close to nothing. I wanted to keep walking but naturally Hal, Nolan and Hobson started walking squarely towards it without much discussion, giving me little choice on the matter.
Just as we walked in we heard a stumble and clatter of scrap metal fall to the ground followed by a string of curse words. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I saw a man lying face down on the cold cement floor. The guys were looking at the same thing. His head lifted slowly and for a few moments had a look in his eyes as though we were intent on killing him. None of us said a word or moved a muscle and he got to his knees, head down, and started laughing. This black man with a clear peaceful front stood up and walked over to us, making a joke about his lack of stealth and introduced himself as Lester. We all shook hands with an enigmatic trust and gave our names.
“I was watching you,” Lester said, quickly noticing our suspicious brows, “For a reason.” Of course. He sighed, “I need help.” We all stood silently waiting for him to go on. “My brother…my brother was kidnapped earlier this week.” Right then my heart dropped. He went on to tell us that the MPD was holding his brother prisoner, which I questioned right away. I might have been too quick to ask because Lester shot me a glance as if I was accusing him of lying. Which I may have been doing. I just couldn’t grasp that the good people in the MPD would take a prisoner without good reason. “They’re not good people,” Lester corrected me to which the other guys nodded in agreement. “My brother, he was building a community. The MPD acted like it was an army. But there was nothing violent in his ways and nothing to conspire over. The MPDs,” he reassured, “are not good people.”
“How do we benefit?” Nolan asked.
Lester shrugged. “Finders keepers. We’re going to the holding cells. And whatever they have in there is up for grabs. You claim it, you have it. We’re trying to rescue these people. Christ, women and children are down there, being held as prisoners for reasons they’re not even sure of.”
When Lester said ‘we’, we knew we had something. He explained that he had already recruited three others, friends of his. Hal, Nolan and Hobson agreed to help. Another day or two lost. Or maybe this was the end of the road, who knows if we’d make it out alive. But I couldn’t go to Hart’s Mill alone. I nodded, turning to Lester, “Okay. I’m in. I know what you’re going through. Where we’re eventually heading to, I’m hoping to find my sister. She was taken over a year ago. Kidnapped.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But-and I don’t want to give you false hope-but maybe you’re sister is down there. A lot of people are down there.”
I shook my head and told him it couldn’t have been the MPDs that took my sister. The people that took my sister killed my parents, tried to kill me. Horsemen, I wagered.
“Cloaked?”
“What?” I asked Lester.
“Did the men who killed your parents wear cloaks?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Doesn’t sound like horsemen.”
“Well I would have known if they were MPDs, right?”
“Do you remember what they wore?”
I thought for a few seconds and shook my head again.
“Well, try.” Lester said, and went back to talking to us on setting things in motion. I didn’t hear it, though. It was white noise under the crack of something hitting my temple followed by screams from my mom and sister.
I fell to the ground as I got another crack to the head and things went black. Couldn’t have been for long because when I opened my eyes my parents were still alive and fighting. I tried to get up but I was weak. My muscles felt like sand and I couldn’t get more than half a breath in at a time. My stomach was being pulled towards my spine with each attempt at a gasp of air. My hand fell upon it and I brought it to my face. My vision was blurred but I could tell my hand was dripping with blood. Somewhere between in the time between our front door being kicked in to right now, I had been shot in the gut. Or right beside it. I was still alive but wasn’t supposed to be. Another gunshot. I subtly looked up hoping they wouldn’t notice and saw my father fall to the ground, my mother screaming and running over to him. Then, with a blade swiftly crossing her throat, she fell over my father, twitching, until she finally went lax.
Five had come into the house, and two were left. I noticed one dead in the opposite corner as my father. The two left took another look at me so I stopped breathing. They silently confirmed I was dead, grabbed their dead partner and walked out the front door. With all the strength I could muster, I shifted my body towards the wall and looked outside through a hole I was supposed to have filled in weeks ago. I watched them open the trunk of a car and toss their friend in. The other two were still alive sitting in the front of the car. And so was my sister. My vision was clearing and I could see her shaking in the center backseat, blood trickling down the side of her face, gagged and eyes sealed with duct tape. The other two got in, one on each side of her, and pushed her head down between her legs and they drove off.
I don’t remember much about what they looked like. Their clothes didn’t stand out and I couldn’t see their faces because they were wearing those helmets. Kind of like the ones MPDs use. Exactly like the ones that MPDs use.
I came back to now, Lester still talking about how we were getting in and the game plan from there. He mentioned the estimated MPD casualty count and it sent a shiver of excitement up my spine.